Paragon of Destruction

Snowcloud looked at Arran as if he’d gone insane.

"You want to fight them?!"

Arran shook his head. "I want to kill them."

"You can’t..." Snowcloud’s voice trailed off, and she cast a glance at the city. "You found something in the temple?"

"I failed to reach it," Arran replied, then added, "But I gained some benefits from trying."

"But there are—" Snowcloud began, but suddenly, her eyes went wide and her expression turned panicked. "They’re here," she said in a soft voice.

When Arran looked, he saw that a large group of people had emerged from the tree line. There seemed to be at least thirty, and they were just a few hundred paces removed from him and Snowcloud.

Despite his earlier confidence, Arran could not help but feel some apprehension when he saw the group. Aside from being more numerous than he had expected, they seemed almost eerily calm, moving with a fluid certitude as they approached.

Earlier, Snowcloud’s uncharacteristic fearfulness had confused him, but now, he began to understand why her pursuers had frightened her so much.

There was an aura of inescapable power around them, almost as if they were fated to be victorious. Their approach had an air of inevitability, and Arran’s confidence began to falter. Against enemies like these, there could be no—

Suddenly, a smile appeared on his face.

"Those crafty bastards," he muttered as the feeling of panic faded away almost instantly.

The sense of dread had briefly affected him, but then, he realized that the feeling was a familiar one — it was the same sensation he felt when he encountered the eyeless creature in the Academy prison and at the deserters’ fortress. Only this time, it was far weaker. Whatever magic caused it, Snowcloud’s pursuers were clearly less skilled at using it than the creature was.

Just knowing what it was helped Arran resist it, but he was further aided by the effects of his Tempering. With the increased physical and mental control the Tempering had given him, resisting this attack barely took him any effort at all.

Snowcloud, on the other hand, was visibly affected. While she had already looked panicked earlier, now, she seemed almost frozen with fear.

After a moment of thought, Arran began to head for the group of mages, leaving Snowcloud behind him. The quickest way to defeat the mind-affecting magic would be to kill those who wielded it, and until they were dead, the further she was from the battle, the safer she would be.

He approached the group at a relaxed pace, walking toward them almost casually. Rushing them would be pointless — they would immediately understand what was happening and attack. Better to close the distance first.

As he came closer, he saw that the mages were all attired identically, each of them wearing simple gray robes, with both the men and women having shaved heads like monks. Only the man at the head of the group was clothed differently, with his gray robe featuring red fringes.

Arran’s plan seemed to work, because although he could Sense that the mages in the group were gathering Essence, they had not attacked him yet.

"You do not fear us?" the group’s leader called out, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Should I?" Arran responded, continuing to approach them at a casual pace. By now, the distance between them had shrunk to just thirty paces, and with each moment that passed, he came closer.

The group of mages, meanwhile, had come to a halt. As Arran had hoped, his calm approach had left the mages unsure of what to do — anyone who would so casually approach them could only be either a frighteningly powerful mage or a madman, and if it was the former, they might be heading toward a battle they could not win.

"Step aside," the man replied, a worried look on his face. "Our conflict is with the girl. We have no wish to fight you." When he saw that Arran showed no signs of stopping, he added hurriedly, "Hold your distance!"

"Why?" Arran said. Fewer than a dozen paces now separated him from the group, and still he moved forward at a casual pace. "Do you fear me?" He grinned broadly as his hand moved his sword.

At that, the mages finally understood what was happening, but it was already too late.

Arran shot forward like a bolt of lightning, drawing his sword as he rushed the group of mages. A few magic attacks still hit him before he crossed the distance, but these were barely enough to injure him, and nowhere near enough to slow him down.

The leader was the first to die, his face twisted in shock as Arran’s sword tore through his chest. Another three died in the second that followed, the starmetal sword effortlessly ripping through robes, flesh, and bone.

By then, the other mages had launched their first attacks, but Arran was already in the middle of the group. Only a few of the mages managed to hit him, while the sudden chaos caused several others to hit their comrades instead. And while Arran shrugged off the injuries, the mages who got hit weren’t as lucky, with the barrage instantly killing half a dozen of them.

Even before their bodies hit the ground, Arran took advantage of the chaos to kill half a dozen more, his blade striking before they had a chance to defend themselves.

The sudden slaughter left the mages panicked, and their fear was further fueled when they saw that their attacks had no visible effect on Arran. And as they wasted precious seconds on impotent magics, Arran tore through them like a blood-crazed demon, his blade cutting them down like rats.

Half the group already lay dead by the time the first mages thought to draw their swords. But if their magic had been useless, their weapons proved little better, as Arran’s strength and speed far exceeded theirs.

With every breath, more of the mages died, and it wasn’t long before the first of them fled in a panic, his courage broken from facing an enemy he had no way to defend against. Moments later, the other remaining mages followed his example, desperately trying to escape with their lives.

Arran, however, had no intention of letting any of them live to send word to their allies. Even as the mages tried to flee, he ran them down, cutting them down without either mercy or hesitation.

As the last of the mages died, barely two minutes after the fight began, Arran turned around and made his way back to Snowcloud.

When he reached her, he saw that the fear she had in her eyes before was now gone, and he understood that it had indeed been her pursuers’ magic that affected her earlier.

Yet although she no longer looked fearful, she didn’t seem relieved, either. Instead, as she faced Arran, her expression was one of worry.

"How did you do that?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "And what happened to you in the city?"

For a moment, Arran hesitated, but then he gave her a short nod.

"I’ll tell you," he said, "if you tell me who I just killed, and why they were after you."

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